


Ebony Eyes

by Gemmiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: DeanCas - Freeform, Demon Dean, Destiel - Freeform, M/M, season 10
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-02-17 16:10:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2315534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gemmiel/pseuds/Gemmiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Castiel finds a black-eyed Dean in a bar, all he wants is to save his friend. At least he tells himself that's all he wants. But his body (which is becoming more and more human with every passing day) has other ideas...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't been writing much lately thanks to anxiety issues. I still have some others to finish up, and I'm working on them too. In the meantime, here's the start to a nice straightforward Demon!Dean/Cas story that will be mostly smut.

Externally, Dean hadn’t changed.

Castiel stood at the door of the dark bar, unnoticed amongst the crowd of humans, and studied his friend. Dean looked much the same, his muscled frame wrapped in the customary Winchester uniform of denim and plaid. Oh, he appeared a little younger, perhaps, with the worry lines that always creased his face gone, and his hair longer than he had previously worn it. And every so often his eyes glinted with the ebony sheen of obsidian. Even so, for the most part, through human eyes he looked much like the same hunter he’d always been.

But through angelic eyes…

Cas studied his friend more deeply, and couldn’t help his instinctive, painful wince. The soul that had once shone with a brilliant silver light now writhed within Dean, dark and clouded. It seemed like an evil, twisted perversion of the soul that Cas had once loved, and simply looking at it hurt.

Even so, he reminded himself firmly, this was _Dean._ The man who had battled his way through Purgatory looking for Castiel, even though he could easily have left the angel behind. The man who had saved Cas' life over and over again. The man who'd been his best friend for years now.

Regardless of his instinctive aversion to demons, he couldn’t turn his back on Dean. Not now. Not ever.

Stiffening his spine, he pulled together the tattered remnants of his angelic grandeur and strode across the room. Dean glanced in his direction when he was about halfway across, and the familiar sardonic smile curved his lips. 

“Castiel,” he said. His voice was deeper than Cas had ever heard it, and it seemed to reach into the angel’s chest and twist something there almost painfully. Dean's use of his full name hurt, too. He couldn't remember the last time Dean had called him Castiel. He restrained his impulse to flinch and came to a halt beside the other man, trying to ignore his own reactions.

“Dean,” he answered, forcing his voice to steadiness. “Sam has been looking for you.”

Dean laughed, softly and mirthlessly. “Figured he would be. Sammy’s never been able to stand me havin’ fun.”

Cas restrained an irritated sigh, just barely. “This is not _fun,_ Dean. You are-- you are a _demon._ ”

“No kidding?” The green eyes danced, so familiar, so _Dean,_ that Cas’ heart wrenched. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“You need to be saved,” Castiel said, firmly ignoring the pain in his chest. He knew a human would diagnose the issue as heartache, but that was ridiculous. Angels—even falling angels-- did not suffer from such maladies.

“I see.” Dean lounged back, elbows against the bar, hips pushed forward, in a way that Cas could only describe as sensual. He supposed that the demon was on the prowl, as Sam usually described it when Dean was looking for female companionship. “So you figured you’d come save me.”

Cas lifted his chin, trying for dignity. “It is the least I can do, considering all the times you have saved me.”

“Yeah. Well, there’s just one problem with that.” The eyes shifted to black so quickly Cas could hardly restrain his instinctive recoil. “I don’t want to be saved, Angel. I’m happy just the way I am.”

*****

Castiel, Dean reflected, was fucking adorable.

Not his vessel—which was admittedly pretty nice looking, if you went for the geeky tax accountant type. And not his grace, which to demon eyes shone visibly through his human skin in a blue-white halo.

No, what was adorable was Cas himself. Walking right onto Dean’s turf and cheerfully announcing he was here to save Dean, like an overconfident Mormon. He probably figured Dean would fall right to the ground at his feet, confess his sins with a flood of penitent tears, and beg to be saved.

What Cas didn’t realize was that being a demon was (so to speak) a Hell of a lot of fun. 

Oh, sure, being an ordinary demon in Hell wasn't much fun. He'd done the torture thing on his first trip to Hell, and he didn't especially want to do it again. Not that he cared a fuck about all the lost souls screaming and pleading for mercy-- it was just boring. Work, work, work, all the time. But he was a fucking Knight of Hell, not your common garden-variety demon, and he didn't have to do crap like that.

Of course, Crowley had had some sort of work planned for him. But Dean had ditched his supposed King and taken off on his own, first chance he got. Because the last thing he wanted to do, after years and years spent saving the world, was sacrifice more. Being a Knight of Hell wasn't about serving Crowley. Hell, no. It was about having a good time.

Not that Cas was going to understand that. Angels didn’t get the concept of fun. Never had, never would. There were a couple of exceptions—Gabriel and Balthazar, for example—but Cas himself wasn’t one of them. He’d never in a million years see the virtues of cutting loose and having a good time.

“You may think you’re happy,” Cas was saying earnestly, “but this isn’t you, Dean. Not really. You’re all _twisted_ inside.”

“You're wrong, Cas. This is me.” Dean lifted an eyebrow. “Want to check me over, real carefully, and see for yourself?”

He expected that to go right over the angel’s head, same as innuendos always did, and was taken aback slightly when Cas’ eyes widened. Cas stared at him a moment, then his eyes narrowed and his head cocked to the side in a typical Cas gesture.

“Is that a flirtation?”

Dean couldn’t help himself. He barked out a laugh.

“Yeah, Angel,” he said softly. “That was definitely a flirtation.”

*****

Dean was flirting with him.

The strategist in Cas knew he should be exploiting this unexpected turn of events as a possible weakness, a way to get Dean to lower his defenses so that he could be saved. He tried to focus on that idea, but found he was oblivious to anything except Dean's sardonic smile. His heart pounded in his chest, so hard that he could hear the rush of blood in his ears, and just beneath his skin, his nerves all sang hosannas.

His body, he reflected grimly, was more out of his control every day. Every day he lost a little more of his stolen grace, became less angelic and more human. And humanity, he had already discovered, was both a blessing and a curse. 

Now, for example. Now, when he should be keeping his head, coolly formulating the best plan for rescuing Dean… he couldn’t seem to think straight. His heart pounded and his breath came in hard pants, and he was…

Well, he had an erection.

That was something he had experienced in the past—mostly around Dean—and it was a generally pleasant sensation. But this was more than merely pleasant. He ached, in a way he’d never ached before. He wanted. He _craved._

And what he craved… was Dean.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience, beloved readers. My daughter broke her leg badly falling off a horse, and my life this past month has revolved around driving her to school and doctor appointments and physical therapy and the like. Things are clearing up now, though (and in two weeks she'll be able to put weight on it again, yay!), so I'm going to try to get back to some of my dangling threads. Sorry that this one got delayed so long that it's obsolete, but... well, let's just call it an AU, shall we?

Cas was more taken aback than ever when Dean moved toward him. Driven by a very human instinct of self-preservation, he stumbled backward, coming up hard against the bar. Before he knew it Dean’s arms were on either side of him, caging him in, and Dean’s body, hard and warm, was pressing him back against the wood and brass. 

He was acutely, almost painfully, aware of the strength in Dean's arms, the barely leashed power of his long, lean form. _The temptations of the flesh,_ he thought, understanding that phrase more clearly than he ever had before. But beneath the perfectly formed flesh... well, Dean was a beautiful human by almost any standard, but this close, the ugly, twisted darkness in his soul was overwhelming. 

Castiel's grace writhed in revulsion... but his too-human body quivered with need.

“Let me go,” he quavered.

“You don’t really want me to let you go.” Dean did something with his hips that caused his pelvic region to brush right over Cas’s burgeoning erection. The angel choked back a noise that threatened to burst from his throat, and Dean laughed softly. “See there? You don’t want to go anywhere at all…’cept maybe a room. Want to share a room with me, Cassie?”

The new diminutive form of his name was uttered in a mocking tone that made Cas automatically dislike it. He assured himself that he didn’t really want privacy with Dean. Of course he didn't. Even so, he couldn't deny that from a practical standpoint, privacy was better for what he had in mind.

Though of course that had nothing, absolutely nothing, to do with the way Dean was brushing against his erection until it was so hard it hurt. He simply wanted to save Dean. That was all.

“Yes,” he agreed in a whisper.

Dean paused in whatever he was doing with his hips, and blinked at him. “Seriously?”

Cas realized that Dean had been trying to knock him off balance, to unsettle him, but had not actually expected him to take Dean up on his offer. Which meant that he had an opportunity here to knock _Dean_ off balance. He moved his own hips, endeavoring to imitate the sinful motion that Dean had been making, and Dean hissed suddenly, his eyes shifting to black.

“Yes,” Cas said again, his voice deliberately pitched low, as sensual and seductive as he could make it. “Let’s share a room, Dean.”

*****

Fuck. _Fuck._

Dean hadn’t thought Cas would actually take him up on his offer, let alone… well, dry hump him in public. But here was sweet angelic little Castiel, giving as good as he got. The two of them were grinding their hips together, right where half the population of this hick town could see them. The bartender was glaring at them, only his awareness that Dean was known to be a temperamental and unstable son of a bitch stopping him from telling them to get the hell out. 

Dean’s inhibitions had been stripped away with his humanity, and he didn’t much mind the idea of getting off in front of a crowd, or even screwing in public. But he discovered that he _did_ mind the rest of the patrons of this little bar seeing that much of Cas. Castiel was his, _his,_ and he wasn’t going to let anyone else watch Cas writhing and gasping and quivering when Dean made him beg and plead. No, he sure as hell wasn't sharing that with anyone else. Cas belonged to him, and him alone.

He wasn’t sure where the sudden burst of possessiveness had come from, but he assured himself it was just that he wanted to make an Angel of the Lord crawl. Of course that was all it was. It wasn't like he still had any affection for Cas or anything. It was simply that forcing an angel under his control was a serious turn-on for a demon.

And Cas was going to be _totally_ under his control. He thought of himself holding Cas down, kissing and sucking everywhere, until Cas was begging for him, and then sliding into the angel’s body, taking Cas, making him his own...

“Let’s go upstairs,” he grated. “I got a room.”

Cas looked at him, and there was something very un-Caslike about his expression. He looked meek, almost submissive. Like he was ready to bend to Dean's will, to do whatever Dean wanted, to surrender totally to anything Dean might ask of him. An angel of the Lord, Dean thought, his for the taking. His to corrupt. The demon inside him shuddered with excitement and anticipation.

Cas lowered his gaze and spoke in a low voice.

“All right,” he answered. "Let's go upstairs."

*****

Dean’s room was bland, anonymous, dull-- a mattress covered with a green quilt, matching curtains at the window, two cheap, flickering lamps. There was no hint of Dean in it at all. Cas thought of Dean’s pride in his room at the bunker, the way he’d filled it with Vonnegut books and his beloved vinyl collection and his most prized weapons, with photos of friends and family, and his heart twisted painfully in his chest again. 

He hated the Mark of Cain for what it had done to his friend, but he also hated it for driving Dean from his home. The Mark made a wanderer of its bearer, never allowed him to settle in one place for long. After all these years of a nomadic existence, Dean had finally found a place where he was happy, a place where he belonged—and he’d been forced to leave it. 

And that angered Cas, because after everything his friend had done for the world, all the lives he'd saved, the very least he deserved was a place to call home.

Dean didn’t give him a lot of time to look around at the scant furnishings. He shoved Cas, and the angel stumbled and fell backward onto the bed. He barely had time to be surprised by Dean’s inhuman power—which far surpassed his own ebbing strength—before Dean was on him, hands pressing his wrists to the bed, sharp teeth nipping at his throat.

Cas squirmed in shocked surprise, but Dean was on top of him, thighs outspread, so that their erections pressed together. It was startlingly intimate despite the clothing in the way, and Cas felt his hips rise of their own accord. Dean felt hot and hard against him, and he thrust upward, hungry for pressure against his needy flesh despite himself. This was what he had felt earlier, he recognized, but more intense. Aching. Wanting. _Craving._

The truth that he'd never let himself examine too closely was that he'd always wanted Dean this way, almost from the moment they had met. But somehow the timing had never seemed quite right. He thought grimly that the timing had never been as wrong as it was now-- one of them an angel leaking his stolen grace, slowly fading away into the gray twilight of death, and the other a Knight of Hell, his Righteous soul distorted into a dark and grotesque parody of what it had once been. 

There had been one time, about a year ago, when the two of them had both been merely human, on equal footing for the very first time. The Winchesters had brought him back to the bunker, and just for a fleeting moment, Cas had let himself imagine the possibility of being intimate with Dean, of sharing a bed and a room and a home with him. But then Dean had cast him out of the bunker (on the angel Gadreel's command, although Cas hadn't known it at the time), and the opportunity had been lost. 

But now-- now wasn't the time either. Cas was a creature of Heaven, even if he was only holding onto that designation by his toenails, and Dean was one of the darkest and most perverse creatures of Hell. They could not possibly share physical intimacy. The very thought ought to disgust him.

But Dean nibbled his way across Cas' jaw until his hot breath blew into Cas' ear, and Cas shuddered. He was, he discovered, the absolute furthest thing from disgusted. Strange sensations raced down his nerves in shimmering waves, making his body ache with need, making his skin erupt in goosebumps. His hips rose instinctively, so that his erection brushed against Dean's again, and this time he couldn't hold back the noise rumbling from his throat. He moaned, a soft, needy sound, and his hips ground against Dean more eagerly.

“That’s it.” Dean’s voice was rough in his ear. “Gonna make you come, Cas. Gonna make you come over and over again, until you fucking _scream._ ”

_Don't be absurd,_ Cas wanted to say. _You aren't the Dean Winchester who was once my friend, but a twisted caricature of him, a travesty, an **abomination.** You are not the man I knew and... and loved. He was light, and you are darkness. I do not want you, not as you are now. I only want to save you._

But Dean was whispering coarse promises in his ear, telling him all the things he would do to him with hands and mouth and cock, all the ways he would bring this human flesh to ecstasy, and Castiel found he couldn't say the words. He couldn't say anything coherent at all. He squirmed beneath the onslaught of sensation, panting harshly, and his eyes drifted shut.

"Ohhh," he whispered in helpless submission. "Oh, Dean. _Yes._ "


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this one's been sitting here a while. My daughter wound up having to keep her weight off her leg for months, so I had to drive her to and from school for quite a while. It's been busy! But I'm going to try to finish this one up this week. It wound up being expanded a bit-- next chapter will probably be the end.

_Fuck._

Cas lay beneath him on the bed, moaning and whimpering with every touch of Dean’s lips, his body quivering, his breath rasping in his throat. And Dean had hardly done anything to him yet.

The angel sprawled beneath him, still fully clothed—still wearing his damn trenchcoat—and all Dean was doing was scraping his teeth over his throat. Well, and dry-humping him a little. He could feel the heat of Cas’ hard-on against his, could even feel it twitching through the fabric. Cas was close, damn close, considering he hadn’t even stripped the angel's clothes off yet.

He was close too. Damn it. He thought it was probably the demon in him, reveling in the sensation of having an angel of the Lord beneath him, pinned, helpless, that was turning him on so much. Or it might have been the pleading note in Cas’ deep, rough voice when he whispered, _Oh, Dean, **yes.**_

Or maybe it was just Castiel himself.

Dean wasn’t stupid. Well, he’d been stupid, when he was a human—so grimly determined to never acknowledge that part of him that looked at pretty boys and enjoyed the view. John Winchester would’ve beat the shit outta him if he’d ever noticed Dean looking at a guy, so as a teenager Dean had learned to shove those impulses way, way down, and he’d never quite managed to let those desires out into the light again. And it wasn’t like he didn’t enjoy pretty girls too. His libido got plenty satisfied by all the willing women he met, and he’d never found it all that hard to suppress his interest in guys… till he’d met Cas.

He’d been wildly attracted to Cas from the moment they met, from the instant the angel spread his shadowy wings and lightning had flashed all around him. Not only was Cas’ vessel beautiful, but the angel himself exuded a power and grandeur that made Dean hot as hell. He’d tried to ignore it, to pretend all he felt for Cas was friendship, but he knew from the looks his brother kept giving him that he hadn’t succeeded all that well. Still, he’d never made a move on Cas, never so much as tried to kiss him.

Which only proved that human Dean had been a stupid son of a bitch.

As a demon, Dean was a hell of a lot more self-aware. Castiel wore the body of a very handsome man, and to demonic eyes it shone with the blue-white light of the angel inside, which made him almost heartbreakingly lovely. So yeah, Dean was enjoying the hell out of this. He was harder than he’d ever been in his life, just from holding the angel down and whispering dirty, unHeavenly things into his ear. The way the angel had whined pitifully when Dean had told him he was going to make him come had almost tipped him right over the edge, then and there.

Hell, yes, this was nine kinds of awesome. But he wasn’t going to come in his jeans like a teenager, no matter how exciting it was to finally have Cas at his mercy. He was damn well going to strip off Cas’ clothes, bury himself in the angel, and come deep inside him, while Cas whined and sobbed and shot his load all over the both of them.

He told Cas so, in dark, seductive tones— _gonna fuck you till you scream, Cas, slam so deep inside you, fuck you hard and fast, and it’s gonna feel so goddamn good_ —and the angel moaned and shuddered and whimpered _yes yes yes._

Cas was an absolute fucking mess, and they’d hardly gotten started.

_Fuck,_ Dean thought again. This was going to be incredible.

*****

Castiel was so lost in the feel of Dean’s rough cheek rasping against his throat, the swell of his hot, hard erection against Cas’, that he hardly noticed when Dean began stripping him. The first he noticed was the sound of his trenchcoat swooshing as it was thrown aside, and a muted thud as it hit the floor.

He felt oddly naked without his trenchcoat, since he’d been wearing it since he took this vessel, and very rarely removed it. Feebly, he tried to protest. “Dean…”

“Shut up.” The words were brusque, but the tone was gentle—far more gentle than any demon’s voice had a right to be. It rolled through Cas like fine brandy, smooth and silken and intoxicating. “I know this is all kinda new for you, Castiel, but I can’t fuck you with your clothes in the way.”

Dean’s strong, competent hands shoved off his jacket, then began unbuttoning his dress shirt, and even though Cas was no longer being held down he couldn’t move away. This was a demon, but it was also Dean. His Dean.

Helpless to object, he submitted, shivering when Dean’s fingers happened to brush over the bare skin of his chest, trembling when the large, blunt fingers slipped close to more sensitive areas. He was suddenly aware of his nipples, noticed that they were hard and sensitive and aching, and he wondered vaguely if it was due to the unaccustomed exposure and the chill of the air, or if it was… arousal.

Dean tossed his shirt aside, leaving him naked from the waist up, and his hands began to explore Cas' torso, sliding across his chest. He stroked his thumb experimentally across a nipple, and Cas’ hips rose of their own accord as a strangled sound made its way out of his throat.

“You like that.” Dean’s voice was low and rough, as if he was just as aroused as Cas was. Of course he was. Demons loved sex—it was practically part of the job description. “Not every guy does, you know. Sort of depends. But if you like that, then…” He lowered his head, and his tongue flickered out, sliding wetly across the sensitive flesh.

Cas heard himself babbling, a mixture of English and Enochian and Dean’s name. He was trying to speak coherently, to say something along the lines of _please do continue doing that—it is most pleasant and I find it quite enjoyable._ But what emerged from his mouth was a tangled mess of words and noises that made no sense even to his own ears. 

Dean didn’t seem to mind. He chuckled, a deep, satisfied sound, and did it again.

Cas’ hands moved, more or less of their own accord, and he found himself digging his fingers into Dean’s too-long hair, gripping tightly and tugging Dean’s head down. Dean laughed again, and he seemed to understand Cas’ unspoken request. His lips fastened over Cas’ nipple, and he _sucked._

No one had ever done that to Castiel before, and he had never realized what immense pleasure could be derived from such a small and seemingly irrelevant portion of his anatomy. More noises fell from his mouth, desperate, pleading phrases mixed with frantic animal sounds. He could feel his erection—his dick, Dean would call it, or maybe his cock—twitching wildly in his pants, striving to escape its fabric prison. It was so hard it almost hurt, and he could feel his testicles drawing up against his body, taut and needy.

He ached. He ached so terribly.

As an angel, he had never explored the sexual capabilities of his vessel. As a human, he had had a single sexual experience, but he had been lost and homeless at the time, and he had been driven more by a craving for warmth and comfort than by true desire. But this—this was a need like nothing he had ever experienced. He wanted to be close to Dean. To be part of Dean. To feel his body and Dean’s merge, to meld together as one entity.

He wanted to pour himself into the darkness that filled Dean, and light his friend up from inside. 

Desperate for relief from his physical needs, he rolled his hips against Dean’s, and groaned with the pleasure of it. His cock jerked harder, faster, and he gasped, his spine arching, as the sensations began to overwhelm him—

“Not yet.” Dean lifted his head, rising up on his hands and knees to put some distance between them, and captured Cas’ wrists again, pinning them to the bed. Cas struggled, but his fading grace was no match for Dean’s demonic strength.

“Dean.” He was vaguely aware that he was almost whimpering, but he couldn’t seem to make his voice fall into its usual commanding register. “Please.”

“Please? Please what?” He could hear the mocking, self-satisfied smirk in Dean’s tone, and didn't need to open his eyes to imagine the matching expression on Dean's face. He didn't _want_ to open his eyes... he was too afraid that he'd see ebony eyes looking back at him. But he couldn't stop listening to Dean's seductive voice. “What do you want, Cas?”

“I—I have to— _please_ —”

“You want to come.” Dean’s voice was lower than before, rough gravel wrapped in silk. 

“ _Dean._ ”

“How do you want me to get you off, Cas?” Dean lowered his head, whispering into Cas’ ear. “You want me to take your cock in my hand and stroke it? Or maybe take you into my mouth and suck on you?”

At the blunt, descriptive words, Cas shuddered. A rush of words rose to his lips and collided together, and in the end nothing emerged but a long moan. 

“Or maybe you want me to fuck you? You want me inside you, Cas? That what you want?”

Cas’ cock jerked violently, twitching helplessly against Dean’s thigh, and Dean laughed softly. “Guess I got my answer. Okay, Cas.” He brushed another kiss over the angel’s ear. “I’m all yours.”


End file.
